Courts of Idleness by Dornford Yates Page B

at his elbow.
    Fettering started and swung round.
    “Phyllis!”
    Brother and sister embraced there and then in the sunlit hall. Robin Broke and the Fairies looked on open-mouthed. At length:
    “Support me, somebody,” said Fairie. “Support me at once. My breath is bated.”
    “Be quiet,” said Betty. “This—”
    “Be quiet? Beware, you mean. This is a ruse. While the two are embracing, a third steals the shoe. I’ve read about it in Chunks .”
    “Er – this is my brother, Mr Fairie,” said Miss Fettering, flushing furiously. “I haven’t seen him for seven years, and—”
    “What did I say?” said Bill excitedly. “He’s only just out. Clearly a hardened criminal. Very glad to meet you,” he added, shaking Fettering’s hand. “And now, if we promise not to prosecute, you must tell us how in the world you got hold of my wife’s shoe.”
    “Well, to begin with, a girl gave it me,” said Surrey, laughing. “In the garden.”
    “But this is a shoe,” said Fairie, holding up the slipper. “Not an apple.”
     
    Fay, mounting the cobbled paths delicately, limped round a corner to see The White Hope standing regarding critically the great pink blooms of a magnificent tassel tree. At the sight of her the look of appraisement faded from his face into a vast smile of greeting, which was in turn succeeded by a whimsical expression of surprise, as he observed her shoeless foot.
    “Another harsh dictate of Fashion?” he exclaimed. “Not content with the restriction of the kilt, does she demand—”
    Fay interrupted him to explain. At length:
    “So you see,” she concluded, “when he does come back, I shall be gone. It’s his own fault for being so long.”
    The eminent lawyer smiled.
    “Clearly an affair,” he said. “Three centuries ago it would have been a glove. Today it is a slipper. Your gallant has doubtless fastened it in his hat, and is probably at this moment engaged in murdering such well-intentioned pages and other members of the staff as have innocently presumed to draw his attention to the peculiarity of his headgear. When he has dispatched them, he will rejoin you.”
    “Well, he’ll be too late, anyway,” said Fay, laughing. “And now—”
    She stopped suddenly, and a light of excitement sprang into her grey eyes.
    “What mischief–” began the KC intelligently. Fay laid her hand on his arm and gurgled with delight.
    “Oh, do,” she said rapturously. “Do. It would he priceless. Just go and take my place where I was sitting. There’s a chair by a seat in the wall, right on the edge of the cliff. And when he comes, he’ll find you, and you can have him on beautifully.”
    She laughed softly in anticipation.
    The lawyer’s eyes twinkled.
    “Show me the way,” he said.
    So she showed him the way, and then, smiling in anticipation of her swain’s discomfiture, proceeded haltingly, by a circuitous route, through the fair garden up to the hotel.
     
    Later that afternoon, amongst other sets, the Brokes took on the Fetterings, and were handsomely beaten. By the side of the court, shock-absorbing cushions received the weight of the KC gracefully. Through the drifting smoke of his cigar the lawyer followed the ebb and flow of the play with lazy eyes. In the course of one of the games, Fay Broke and Surrey Fettering met for a moment, each in quest of a ball, on opposite sides of the net.
    “I shall never forgive you, Grey Eyes,” said Surrey.
    “You shouldn’t have been so long,” retorted Fay, with a dainty lift of her eyebrows. “And, as you feel like that, it’s a very good thing I didn’t happen to be your sister, isn’t it?”
    Steadily Surrey regarded her. Then:
    “I’m beginning to think it is, Grey Eyes,” he said slowly.
    “Come on, you two,” called Robin, waiting to serve. “Love Thirty, isn’t it?”
    “I wonder,” said The White Hope to himself, watching Fay’s face curiously, as she backed towards her place in the court. “I wonder.” Then